"I have a
little scheme on hand in which he is concerned."
Rayton scratched his chin doubtfully.
"The fellow may not be such a fool as he seems," he reminded his
friend.
"I won't run any risks," Sir Henry promised. "I just want him left
there, that's all. And look here, Rayton, you know what I want from
you. I quite agreed to your proposals as to my anonymity at the
time when I was up in Scotland, but the thing's a secret no longer
with the people who count. Every one in Germany knows that I'm a
mine-field specialist, so I don't see why the dickens I should pose
any longer as a sort of half-baked idiot."
Rayton's eyes twinkled.
"You want to play the Wilson Barrett hero and make a theatrical
disclosure of your greatness," he laughed. "Poor Philippa will
fall upon her knees. You will be the hero of the village, which
will probably present you with some little article of plate. You've
a good time coming, Henry."
"Talk sense, there's a good fellow," the other begged. "You go and
see the Chief and put it to him. There isn't a single reason why I
shouldn't own up now."
"I'll see what I can do," Rayton promised, "but what about this
fellow Lessingham, or whatever else he calls himself, down there?
There's a chap named Griffiths--Commandant, isn't he?--been
writing us about him."
"I won't have Lessingham touched," Sir Henry insisted.
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